


Conversations With The Ones That (Used To) Love You

by Th13f0fH0p3



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, SBURB/SGRUB, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 14:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Th13f0fH0p3/pseuds/Th13f0fH0p3
Summary: Rose talks with the ones that say they love her. They tell her she used to be different. She's not sure if she believes them.





	Conversations With The Ones That (Used To) Love You

Dave likes to tell you about how you used to be. How you used to be before that…  _ thing _ found its way into you. He says you used to be happy, but if you’re honest you find that hard to believe. He says that you used to smile and laugh and fight. You don’t do much of that anymore, you guess. It’s hard to know the difference. It’s hard to know because you can’t remember when it happened, exactly. He says that you used to like reading and writing and knitting. He says you would do something other than what you do now.

John likes to talk about what happened to you. He says that he found you with gray skin and white eyes and black tears. He says you spoke a language that sounded like forks against a blackboard. When he speaks about it he looks like he’s reliving it. You would hug him -Jade told you to do that- but you think that would just scare him more, so you don’t do anything at all. He says you showed him up the stairs and onto the top and that you watched him sob over his father’s corpse. He says that he’ll never forget the way that you looked at him that day, as if you couldn’t care less. Some days you think that maybe you remember that part. For some reason you have the image of John -with this expression on his face that you now lack the ability to describe- burned into your mind. It’s only some days though. Other days, another image is burned into your mind.

Jade likes to tell of how it happened. She says that it probably started at the beginning of the game. She says you didn’t do what you were supposed to, just went off on your own and started wrecking shit. That’s the only part of all of this that you think might be something that you would do. Wrecking… shit, as she puts it, is definitely something you like to do. Perhaps the only thing you like to do. Then, she says that you started talking with someone named Dr. Scratch. That’s something familiar too. Someone? No, something. You don’t think Dr. Scratch was ever really a person. If anything he was a puppet, just like you are, just like everyone is. She says she doesn’t know exactly what happened, just that he tricked you and that the last time she knew you as you were, you were freaking out about your mother. Now that, that is something you remember.

You remember the stench of her blood. It was so pervasive and yet you saw it before you smelled it. Since you came down from the sky, you had a lot of time to take it all in. You saw the river of blood on the balcony, the vague shapes of two bodies and of a table knocked over. Something you remember with a strange vividity is the numbness you felt. Maybe that part is less of something that you remember and more of something that you feel now that invaded the memory. That’s not important though. The only important thing is the shape of your mother, her pale skin, her black lips, her red dress, the martini glass inches away from her stretched fingertips. The other days... The other days that you don’t remember John’s face are the days that you remember her. There’s no room for other thoughts on those days. There’s only room for screaming and destruction and crying. You don’t understand why. She means nothing to you. You feel like she never did. When you tell Jade this, she cries and holds your hands so hard they bleed. She whispers for you to come back to her. She screams at the sky with all the rage of the world and you do nothing.

You blink and always, always, you find yourself brushing a black tear off your face. You don’t know why. She doesn’t mean anything to you. None of them do. None of them tell you why you should care. None of them tell you of the woman with gray skin and horns and jade eyes that stare at you when you pass by. None of them tell you why they care. None of them tell you how you were better then you are now. None of them matter to you at all.


End file.
